Poison
by artificialprince
Summary: Kurt Hummel has always feared death, but what is it that he really fears in the thought of leaving forever? Prose written for 'How We Fade' by of-a-crescendo.


**So this is a prose based on the beautiful story by of-a-crescendo called 'How We Fade'. This file won't allow me to post the link, but a quick google search of 'of-a-crescendo how we fade livejournal' takes you straight to the story. Its the very first result. Sorry about having to make you do that to find it.**

**Originally posted this to my tumblr, and didn't think much of it, until of-a-crescendo read it and complimented and thanked me and it was pretty much awesome, as she writes the most amazing stories which I adore. So I asked if I could post it here, because its based off her work and I didn't wanna make her mad, but she was all for it, so here it is.**

**I strongly recommend you read her story either first or second, whichever is fine because it works both ways. **

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The locking door, the stumble to the stone basin. Smooth hands gripping on the cool surface, knees buckling, falling to the cold tiled floor. Quick breath, inhaling, exhaling, quivering lips, whimpering softly. Ghostly reflection in the iron foot of the tub, porcelain features, rosy cheeks, stained with painful regret and stupid mistakes. He couldn't do this anymore. Living in false happiness, as a mere copy of everything he'd once been. A perfect mask set in the matching porcelain of his petite face, hid the emotions that teenage boys were never meant to let free. The stuggling, the pressure. The memories flooded with remorse and the constant looming fear of being torn away from everything forever.

The idea of death was intimidating, but it was also an escape. And he would take anything, anything he could as a way to flee this fakeness. He was tired. Ever so tired. And eternal sleep just became all the more inviting, the more he thought about it. Silence. Slowly rising to his feet. Searching, through the cabinets, for anything, anything that could be used as his escape vessel. Bottles spilled out onto the sink. Tiny pills, each a different shade of poison. He had always known which colours worked the best together, the deadly capsuals had better not be an exception.

Death. He held it in his hand. He'd thought about it so many times before, never daring to attempt it. He had longed for it at times, as a way to escape his problems, as a way to reunite with loved ones that had been lost. But now, he was so close. And he wanted it. Oh how he wanted the suffocating black to cloud his vision, to feel the cold bone hands of Death clasp around him and drag him under. Without existence there was no pain.

But he hestitated. Staring at the pills in his palm. This was something he knew he wanted. So why the wait?

He knew, in the back of his tortured mind, why. The one thing he'd regret leaving behind.

The raven haired boy, with his hazel eyes and thick eyebrows. His curly hair, set hard with gel, that escaped it's mould only on weekends. His voice pure and light, when he spoke, and when he sang. The only thing that really mattered to him.

Was that why he was so afraid?

Losing the boy. Was that really all he feared in death?

He never understood why he cared so much for him. He had never given him half a look before. But he himself had stolen so many glances, hidden behind light lashes, at this boy. So perfect in his eyes, but his affection remained unnoticed, covered up by smiles and silence.

He would never know how he felt.

Without a second thought, he threw back the minute murderers, swallowing hard and fast. He choked, groping for the plastc cup on the basin to fill with cool water. He chugged it down, spilling it down his front and around his mouth. Heavy breathing. Dizzy. He needed more.

Another mouth full of poison.

And another.

Before he fell. Exhausted.

His heart pounded, thumping in his ears. His chest burned, a thousand fires burning strong and hot and vengeful in his body, stabbing pain all the way through him. He was scared. What was going to happen now? Was he just going to lie here, alone and in pain waiting to Death to arrive.

But all his thoughts, even while he was dying, swarmed to that one boy. He felt himself start to cry, as he mustered up the strength to close his eyes, the pain too great that it hurt to do such a simple task. His mind flew to their moments spent together, and how happy he had made him, and now how much he would miss him.

Blaine.

Blaine.

Blaine Anderson.

His love for Blaine. How much he loved him. And how he regretted this stupid idea of his now.

_I love you Blaine. _

Final thoughts.

The pain ended. He felt numb. And stiff. Everything was dark and cold. A flicker in the corner of his eye. Light, heat. He was no longer in the tiny bathroom.

A single door stood out from the black. Elegant wooden panels, twisted oak design in the frame. Shiny brass handle. Opening it softly, he walked through.

He stood in the rain. But he could not feel the wet sensation on his skin. He could not remember it.

A large house stared down at him. Propelled forward, he walked inside and up the staircase, and another, and around a series of twists and turns of corridors until his stopped. In front a plain wooden door with a golden plate reading a number he couldn't identify no matter how long her stared. Nothing was working.

He knocked.

Door opened. Hazel eyes staring back, confused and beautiful. Blaine. He was still there.

Kurt Hummel has always been a little afraid of death. Because of leaving, and not living.

Leaving the ones he loved killed him more then any poison could.


End file.
